


Measured Out By My Own Hand

by Path



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures, Problem Sleuth - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:11:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spades Slick is used to being the musician of the relationship, so it's a good thing Problem Sleuth can't sing. Like a complete genius. Or play the guitar worth a damn or anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Measured Out By My Own Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I figured if Tom Waits is Spades Slick and I wrote a fic about that, I should probably write a fic about Problem Sleuth being Mark Knopfler.

You and the Crew play constantly, so it's just sort of established among you and your significant... whatever he is that you're the musician of the pair. This illusion lasted for years, right up until you walk (break) into his house and find him strumming a guitar so ancient it might have been here before the city was.

He starts and looks guilty. "Uh, hey Slick," says Problem Sleuth, trying to slip the guitar behind his back.

"What the fuck is this?" you ask him pleasantly.

"Oh," he says, "you know. I'm just, uh, just noodling around with it."

"Whatever," you say. "I guess it's just guitar. It's not like you can sing worth a damn."

Sleuth just agrees. He's so unassuming about it you find yourself demanding he play something for you. This wouldn't have happened five minutes ago; you have a bad habit of doing whatever seems least appropriate at any given moment. "Come on," you pester him, "play me your C scale or whatever you're failing at learning this time."

"Well," he says, pulling the guitar back around and cradling it on his lap, "I've got a couple songs down now. But you know, it's mostly words with just some chords to back it up."

"Well," you say back, "as little as I want to hear you sing, just do it. If I spontaneously evolve deafness to survive I won't have to listen to Droog bitching about budgets anymore."

He looks awkward and you smirk. You like making Problem Sleuth uncomfortable. It's one of life's little pleasures. Of course, it's also the easiest thing in existence. You don't know how he survives in this city when he can barely get up and brush his teeth in the morning without botching the whole thing. You settle back to hear Mary Had A Little Baabeast or whatever he's going to fumble through.

He looks down at the guitar, picks a few notes, and settles into soft strumming, not really bad at all. "I'll just do one verse," he says over it, concentrating. Your eyes slowly narrow.

And then he starts singing. You've never heard Problem Sleuth sing before. You have no idea why, now.

He sings some incomprehensible folk song, but you pay almost no attention to the words, because you are too caught-up in how they're delivered. His singing is lower than his speaking, and warm. There's a burr to it that lends a fuzzy h-sound to all his words, and you find it astonishingly delicious. He handles his words as softly as he does his crappy ancient guitar.

You sit in silence and try to keep your mouth shut. It keeps wanting to dangle open. At the end of the verse and (from the chord progression) what you figure would be the chorus, he strums to a stop and sits there looking bashful and awkward.

"What the fuck was that?" you ask again.

"Oh," he says, "I guess history?"

"What's Northumberland?" you ask moodily.

"Dunno," answers Problem Sleuth. "Places, probably. My mum used to sing about it to me."

"It should have died with her," you tell him vengefully. "You're a crap singer."

"Yeah," he says mildly, putting the guitar away. "You're the musician, Slick. And anyhow," he says, "it's just a hobby. I don't need a second job to bolster my failing heists."

You are so astonished at this entire day that it actually takes you a couple of seconds before you wind up to hit him.


End file.
